


Mother's Say

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Drama, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 01:29:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/792464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Naomi has her say in things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mother's Say

**Author's Note:**

> I've noticed Naomi often gets short shrift; I thought maybe if we could see things through her eyes...

## Mother's Say

by J M Griffin

Author's disclaimer: Shouldn't they belong to those who love them best?

* * *

Mother's Day  
By J. M. Griffin 

I remember so well the day Blair was conceived. It was a beautiful, fall afternoon and the sunlight streamed in the window of the bedroom, catching that hint of gold in my lover's hair. My son was conceived in great joy and passion, but I never even thought about marrying his father. 

Not that there was anything wrong with Robbie. He was sweet and sexy, though not very tall. The man had gorgeous blue eyes that could melt you in a glance, not unlike his son's, and a mass of curly brown hair. It was disgustingly short as he was an academic and not one of my many hippy friends. As I said, I had no intention of marrying him and I never told him of the child we made that day. By the time Blair was old enough to ask, Robbie had been killed in a car accident. So it didn't really matter, did it? 

Perhaps I should have told him. I am not a perfect mother. I have made my mistakes. But if you look at the outcome of my years of hard work, I don't think I did such a bad job. Blair was raised on stories of his birth, of how easily he arrived (as if eager for a glimpse of his new world) after only six hours of labor. It seemed one moment I was pushing and the next there he was in the mid-wife's capable hands and then in mine. My son, my own flesh and blood. I fell in love with him the moment I saw him. Mother's do that, you know, fall in love with their children. 

When Blair was really tiny, only months old, I was convinced he was the most beautiful creature on earth. You should have seen him. I carried him in a shawl I tied into a sling (so I could take him everywhere with me) and every once in a while I would peek in to see how he was doing. He would look at me with those round, lustrous blue eyes of his and I would fall in love with him all over again. 

He walked early, he spoke early, he rarely stopped moving. Some of my more establishment friends predicted that Blair would have trouble in school. But I knew he was brilliant and that if he put his mind to it, he could do anything. So I did what I always did when those with negative energy tried to cross me, I simply left their sphere of influence. When Blair reached school age, he did perfectly fine, just as I knew he would. He graduated salutatorian from his high school and got a scholarship to Rainier University. Then it was time for him to fly without his mom dragging along after him holding him down. So I packed my bags as he packed his and when Blair went to live in the dorm, I left for my first trip to Cairo 

I freely admit much of what made my son what he is today, he had when he came into the world. Blair's intellect, his stubborn nature, his gorgeous blue eyes were all very evident even when he was an infant. Yet, there are things about him that come from my influence, things like his ability to be at home almost anywhere and his huge capacity to love. Yes, I like to think I taught him that, to love freely and easily. 

And now he's _in_ love. Yes, my Blair, in love. Can you believe it? Which of course means he is no longer "my Blair." I have to tell you, I wondered, these last few years, if he would end up as I have, always seeking, but never finding that one special person, the other half of the proverbial coin. I can see now that he has found that special one. 

At first, I was a bit worried about _who_ he had chosen to love. I mean, Jim Ellison's a cop, for pity's sake. But the last time I visited with them, well, I learned a thing or two about love and sacrifice from my baby boy. I suppose I shouldn't have been so surprised when Blair gave up his career to protect Jim. After all, I've learned from him before. To detach with love was the first big lesson I learned from my son. 

So here I am this evening at the loft, detached and looking into their new world. I am actually cooking up a vegetarian stew and Blair is standing at the bottom of the stairs gazing up them with a mixture of longing and dread on his face. It's evident he wants to race up the stairs to Jim, who just got home from work and is changing his clothes. Oh yes, Blair wants to go greet his lover, but he's scared. Scared he'll offend me? Scared to admit he is totally in love with another man? Scared to commit himself in front of his mother? All of the above? 

Doesn't he know I understand? That I know love such as he and Jim have is the rarest thing in the world. And when love like that comes your way, you grab it. You just go for it; grab the brass ring... grab it, grab it... 

Oh. 

Now I see. 

So I look at my lovely boy (yes, he's a man, but also, always, my boy) and I say, "Brass ring, Blair." 

He looks at me and his eyes widen in understanding. He gives me a quick nod... and goes bounding up the stairs. 

I can't see him, but I hear the fierce impact of his body against his lover's and then the murmurs and noisy kisses, and, finally, the creak of the bed. 

"Guys, I think this stew needs some celery." I call cheerily as I turn off the fire under the cook pot. The bed sounds stop abruptly. "I'm going to run to the store and get some." With that, I grab my wrap from the hook and head out the door. 

There is celery in the crisper in the fridge, but hey, I told you I know how to detach with love, didn't I? I'll take a long time at the corner market and maybe take in a movie. Later, much later, I'll knock loudly upon my return. What else is a mother to do? 

* * *

End

 


End file.
